Any Writers Out There?

[Tea_Rex]

Three of my poems.


GREEN TEA

Think of green tea
as coffee’s little sister
with something sharp and holy
hidden in her purse.
Think of coffee, his shirt tail out,
grubby, fingers fat
and weighted down
with all that sediment.
Think of green tea and the clear green sea
near that stand of bamboo
crown-tangled with jasmine.

COIN

A week later
And the sun has given up
More of the deck,
Shadow edging the golden light
That even laid across
Silvered boards
Insists on gold,
Rings on the pale sky
Cymbals, yolks, October,
And a spectrum
Of orange, gold, and burgundy —
Heart’s blood red of the last two apples
Still on the tree.
The only coin I own, this sun,
The yellow leaves of the apple tree,
And these women talking poems,
Stories, the coin of words —
True specie. That,
And the sun mellowed in this season
Yet seething, golden, genuine.

NEW YEAR’S DAY, 2000


Crows quarrel all morning
This first day the calendar invented.
The clock by the bed ticks on
As if life could be parsed finer
Than the seasons, day and night.

Last night Peter wandered through his sentences
Like a thousand year old man,
Skull asserted in his face,
Dropping cigarettes
From numb fingers, burned up,
Guttering in the rug, their coals
Like the lily, forced to urgent scarlet
Mid-winter, that blazed all this week
And now browns gently at its tips.
The Liza Minelli Memorial Millennium Lily
We made up to tease his tongue
Already twisted in his breath.
Last laughs on all of us.

Forty years ago,
I would wonder,
Count it up and calculate
Would I be “here” today.
Fifty-two seemed so old
As to be dicey, but the bones
Have rolled me up now after all
To this artificial shore
That Peter, thirty-five,
Will never reach.
I would, back then,
Think I had a chance, at least,
To see this time, but never could have known
I’d be sitting deathwatch
With crows in their ebony haberdash
Eyeing the cul de sac for signs of life.

[rabbit]

To dance upon the edge of doubt,
Must I fall within and melt
To understand just what it was
My badly broken heart had felt?

[mosshorn]

like the last one Rabbit....well like em all, but on that one I was like "Whoa....resonance"

[fracol]

Oh, I am taking a journalism class. I think I am planning on majoring in communications. Maybe one day you will see me on FOX or CNN.

[Peacock]

Here's my attempt at a poem.

I scrutinized you from afar.
Inside, I found your heart.
I saw it for nothing less than a work of art.
Its beat was oh so sweet!
With splendid cadence it would sing.
It was so beautiful, at the time I wished for a wedding ring.
….
Thump, Thump
My wish came true.
…..
For us though, over time everything changed.
I was aware of your suffering and you became mentally deranged.
I know I’m the one to blame.
Next time I should watch how I aim.
Sadly, your heart became sour and tart.
I’d give anything to restart.
….
Thump, Thump
….
What I miss most is that your heart no longer sung.
Maybe it’s because you are no longer young.
I could not stand your heart anymore.
I shunned your heart, genuinely abhorred.

Without love a heart can never truly live.
Eventually its beat slows and the heart feels deprived.
After all, a heart is made for love.
In the end yours slowed.
In time, its rhythm delayed.
Mine was beating too fast for yours to keep up!
Two hearts no longer in sync…
Mine continued to beat faster and faster and yours slower and slower...
Eventually yours ceased to exist.

[rabbit]

"I wept ‘til tears gave way to prayer,
My life- lay bare- and like a husk,
The darkness shed- t'was torn away,
A kernel fell at break of day,
The imperfection- rot or rust,
Became the life-breath to the dust,

The seed then grew- to start anew,
A life un-swayed- with deeper root,
Where tears- like rain- would keep it clean,
No violent sway- unsteady lean,
Would deviate it from the truth,
And it- content- would there remain."

-Rabbit

[artmom]

Written several years ago:

PATINA

Patina is

The caress of a young girl’s hand when placing embroidered tablecloths in her “bottom drawer”

The rub of a cat’s back as he rounds the corner

The touch of a puppy’s nose when the ball rolls beneath the chest

The contact of a new mother as she puts baby clothes away

The grasp of an old woman as she steadies herself as she passes

The mechanic’s touch as he opens the drawer each morning to get his handkerchief

The scratch made as the toddler bangs the Tonka truck against the base

The vinegar and beeswax faithfully applied each Spring for 46 years

Life itself.

[artmom]

Also from several years ago.

SANDRO'S MASK

Sandro took a photograph.
It wasn’t of dog, or cat, or centopaph,
Instead, it was a Venetian mask,
Actually, a bauta, in case you ask.

Hanging on a grim façade,
The wall itself quite flawed,
The bauta told a story,
Which, interpreted, was gory.

The photograph was black and white,
But to it was added color and light.
An artist’s choice to illustrate, in art,
The rot at ancient Venice’s heart.

This is the painting that I did that a photographer named Sandro gave permission for me to paint from his black and white photo.

Original was 8 x 10 or 9 x 12

Copy of Sandros Mask.jpg (17.17 KiB) Viewed 1962 times

[rabbit]

^ That painting is awesome artmom! So are the poems!

I wrote this one today... I was thinking about what it would have been like to live hundreds of years ago and have your village plundered.

The heavy weight of sorrow
Drew their eyes still further down
Upon the hill the bodies lay
On desecrated ground

And in the distance- Viking calls
As boats sail from the bay
The clouds of smoke from burning homes
Now darkening the day

For everything they once had owned
Was taken in the night
A woman’s crying fills the air
At early morning light.

[artmom]

Thank you, Benjamin.

Today's poem certainly pulls up a vivid image for me of the Viking raids. Well done.

[matcha/mate.enthusia]

I was just wondering if any of you are writers? I've been writing for a large portion of my life- mostly poetry and little essays.

Yes, indeed. I'm a published poet, an aspiring novelist, and essayist, etc., etc. Tea and mate usually fuel these endeavors!

[TwoPynts]

Lovely poetry (and play ).
I dabble a bit in poetry, but I do most of my writing as reviews on Amazon (and at Lunch.com). I'm too ADD for anything longer.
I love to read though.

[rabbit]

"A seed lay dormant ‘neath the ground
In soil neither kept nor tilled,

A summer past the only sound
The windswept dust upon the field,

She couldn’t dream of life kept hiding
Under fallen leaf and snow,

Surly nothing here residing
Could survive the bitter cold,

Hope had faded by the hour
Thought had turned to other things,

Behold! A single sprouting flower
Resurrected by the Spring." - Me

[artmom]

Nice, rabbit. I can feel a little warmth in the air as I read this.

[rabbit]

Nice, rabbit. I can feel a little warmth in the air as I read this.

Yay Spring! It's in the upper 40's here today and all the snow is melting